Homestead
by RiptideZ
Summary: While Emerson's Rangers manage and guide the path of a war between worlds, an equal part was played in these courses by warfighters and politicians behind the scenes. By involving itself, the United States must prepare for the consequences of repeated histories. Tie-In with BlueWay's Manifest Destiny.
1. Destiny's Manifest

Welcome back, it's been a long time since the creation of this side project for Manifest Destiny.

Many thanks still go out to BlueWay for allowing this project and to extend a hand of help when I was still down trying to find a way to write this right. I'm kind of screwed when it comes to writing, tired and emotionally drained. I've been slow with my work and that's partially due to distractions, college, and a lack of motivation.

I'm thinking that I should throw my focus toward my shorter stories so updates again will be a little difficult, however, I'll try to get a chapter or two for this story out in a much timelier manner. Homestead, once referred to as The Nation, is a parallel narrative to Manifest Destiny, and tells the story of our people in 2028 onward as the events of the Gate take place. This chapter contains a little exposition and hints toward the story that will be told here. The first two scenes are written by myself and are retellings of the original first chapter of The Nation. The final scene of this chapter is written by BlueWay but edited by myself.

War is never fair and it's never honorable. The civilian and detached outlook will be the focus of this story. Homestead is a tale about the United States after the Global War on Terror and the consequences it creates for this post-terror world. Terrorism becomes a bit of a normalcy and peace is a far-fetched dream. We would be fools if we believed that it would last and Homestead hopes to capitalize on that. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter and please do read and review. It's been so long and I think it would help me understand my current storytelling ability if I know how I did here so it would be nice to have some more reviews this go around.

If you are an American like me, I want to wish you all a Fourth of July and to enjoy the rest of your day. Thanks for the support and I promise I'll try not to leave everyone in dampened spirits at the end of every chapter. This is only the tone setter, there will be more ups and downs from here on out. Hope you all enjoy the short adventure, please do give your feedback.

Welcome back to the newly-established first chapter of Homestead.

…

 **Welcome to "Homestead," a non-profit fan-produced fiction product under the ownership of set penname: RiptideZ.**

 **DISCLAIMER: All intellectual property revealed in this work belongs to their rightful owner(s). RiptideZ, the author, owns only that of his intellectual assets. Please Read and Critique constructively via private messaging or review.**

…

 **["Destiny's Manifest"]**

 **[Summer 2028]**

…

 _ **"Our government has failed to contain this disaster. Two decades of continuous environmental damage since Paris – we should have been passed this by now but we're not. It's clear now, our leaders cannot make the hard decisions – it is up to us now. Only we can decide our future. We decide our own destinies." –**_ **Anonymous Hacktivist with connections to known Eco-Terrorists, 2026, Eastern Canada**

…

Open of the twenty-first century and twenty-eight years counting. This is 2028.

Twenty-seven years since Nine-Eleven and the beginning of the Global War on Terror. From Bush to Obama and all their successors, in one way or another they made mistake or two or more – the mission failed over and over again and the United States' involvement in the Middle East and the greater extent of what had often been referred to as the Islamic Belt fluctuated, never completely receding, and never overflowing, over the course of decades. Some of the soldiers on the ground would have been able to claim to know the land just as well as the actual inhabitants.

Somehow, through two decades and a half of constant conflict, the world had survived and life continued on.

On a cloudy morning along the White House lawn, the sky had darkened with the hanging threat of scattered thunderstorms. A hanging mist grasped the ground as humidity tickled the skin of anyone walking through Washington this early in the day.

In the distance, toward the edge of the Presidential property, cameras clicked and flashes of rainbow color flapped from dozens of busy umbrellas being popped or waved to the light breeze in the busy streets of the American capital. Tourists in their light jackets and cheap plastic body wraps stared in awe at the nation's most important home dressed in its cheap, flaky white paint. The publicity surge along the White House grounds always peaked in the late mornings and early evenings whereas the afternoons were practically vacated.

It wasn't a coincidence but rather a voluntary choice by the extensive crowds that passed through the District of Columbia every day, these were the times best to catch a rare glimpse of the forty-seventh Commander-in-Chief of the United States of America, Anton Dirrell. While a picture of the White House alone left a lasting impression, a picture of a President lasted a lifetime.

Within seconds an uproar echoed against the steel fence line of the Presidential Estate as dress shoes met pavement and Secret Service Agents went rigid with concentration. Five men, four dressed in uniform akin to royal guards, two pairs of United States Marines Corps Honor Guard escorted their President to the West Wing across from the leader's living quarters. Whistles and cheers erupted from the crowds and the bark of German Shepherds told the crowds to stay away from the fence.

His blonde hair was a mess this morning, obliterated by high humidity and the dampened breeze – the President of the United States walked across the White House lawn to his majestic office. He wore a gray suit and a red tie and his dress shoes had been shined to match the flash of the marching Marines. Dirrell waved a hand in the direction of the fence line which was quickly met with the gasp and squeals of onlookers gushing at the President's acknowledgment as if rabid fans of a television star.

Anton Dirrell was a charmer, always had been no matter if it was through his looks, his intellect or his voice. He was a tycoon-kind of man, the man that reflected America's stereotyping of the Italian mafia with its many charming and passive-aggressive gangsters. Dirrell was compassionate and a great PR face with a deep voice and the charismatic talent of a proper salesman – he almost appeared to be born for the job of President and had been numerously named an Andrew Jackson, John Kennedy-type politician. He wasn't young but he youthful looks.

Among the onlookers, the Secret Service commander saluted the President as he went by. Dirrell subtly nodded back before disappearing out of sight with his Marine escort behind a pair of large hedges. Like many Americans, the President had his own personal commute every day though his was much more spectacular with a healthy fan base and plenty of fanfare. The President didn't travel kilometers, he traveled mere meters.

The West Wing was a two-story building made of marble and concrete and painted white similar to the rest of the estate – the building featured a small parking lot for Staffers, a secondary security fence, a guard tower and police box, and several prefab barriers – the kind used in active war zones. This was the President's workplace and the democratic temple from which laws were enforced and policies were developed.

The Marines quickly broke rank and file to form up on the doors and steps allowing the President to enter the West Wing complex in a timely manner. Their forms efficiently marched in line after the national head-of-state. Two Jarheads stopped at the double doors and waited at attention, the other two quickly broke off down a single hallway marked "Restrooms."

A small fart escaped the bathroom door as the men in white caps and black and blue ceremonial suits and shiny medals disappeared behind it. For a few moments, snuffled voices echoed from the Men's Room before twisting into silence.

"Crap."

"Damn it, Jason."

"It was an accident, Hunter! Leave me alone."

"Fine, pickle shit."

"Hey-."

The President walked alone down the long, drawn out hallways of the White House West Wing. The passages were devoid of people for the most part – it was early but the White House lunch rush had already occurred, every Staffer and their grandmother had gone off to get a meal before noon came and went. With the early work hours, it was a much more effective system for government employees in the DC to eat brunch.

There were a number of offices that marked the edges of the large office space. Private offices for the President's Cabinet and critical staff: the Press Secretary, the National Security Advisor, the Staff Secretary, Chief of Staff, etc. Most were still unoccupied with the lights off today, some were on lunch break, others were out of the country, and some others were on leave. Each and every individual served at the privilege of Dirrell.

Growls and angry curses were spitballing against the walls of the CIA's Advisory Officer, a Special Agent Syed Hampson. Dirrell stopped in front of the CIA Agent's office to find the man yelling away at an anonymous individual at the other end of a landline while the said Special Agent was stuffing his face hole with Meatball Sandwiches from Subway.

"Good morning, Hampson."

"Hmm? Goof Mourn in, Mister President." Hampson replied, looking up from his paperwork and phone line in a daze.

Dirrell grinned at the man. "Slow down, Syed – the meal can wait!"

"Hmm. Yes, Mr. President. Sir."

The man started to take slower bites and toned down his rant. The President quickly composed himself and continued on his commute to the Oval Office, just down the hall.

A pair of White House interns were arguing amongst themselves, nodding at the President as they passed.

"The app can accurately identify the humidity in the air with the camera! I just need to take a picture with the flash on and the app will analyze the water droplets in the air."

"Bullshit, Ricky. You said the same thing about that Health Advisor app that used the camera! It was just one of those rip off third-party apps that send your information to dating sites."

"No, I swear it works! Here let me show you!"

The one intern, Ricky stopped to take a photo of himself and the hall. There was quick chime suggesting that the phone had received its results.

"See it works fine. It isn't going to rain."

"You just took a picture of the inside of the building. That has no correlation to…"

There was a sudden roll of thunder and the crash of droplets pounding against the White House roof.

"…rain…there you go. I was right."

"That's bullshit," Ricky replied to his fellow intern.

"Sure it is."

"Language, kid." A manager ran by quickly passing the President before disappearing out of sight.

Dirrell stayed composed till he arrived in front of the desk of his secretary. Delilah, the crazy old hag – a woman who made how to make the President's day a living hell and an exciting adventure by keeping him on his toes.

Delilah was sipping her tea innocently, pretending not to notice the President's presence as she watched away at her computer console. Her hair was grayed and flopping in practically every direction and her clothes looked as aged as she was, almost reminiscent of soiled furniture. Though she was already sixty-three and approaching her retirement age, the woman could chew apart any lesser man to shreds with words and blackmail, she was in every definition of a misogynist.

"Mr. President." Delilah greeted without looking away from her monitor.

"Delilah," The President replied, "How was brunch?"

"It's better now that an intern owes me a twenty."

"Ricky?"

"Ricky."

The President and the Secretary chuckled together before quieting back down and reentering his business mode.

"I've completed the requisition for the carpet cleaning – the Pepsi is all gone. Next time you go hosting a barbecue for you're the business class of Chicago – don't do it in the Oval, that Eagle emblem was Ford's."

"Dully noted."

"Get back to your office, Anton."

The President stood still in a moment of defiance before wandering around her and off to his seat of power. If there was one person you didn't challenge in the White House that wasn't the President, it was his Secretary. The damn woman was too damn old.

The President stopped before the great white door to the Presidential Office and halted in a moment of internal consideration – a little meditation for the soul of an untamable leader.

Before Anton Dirrell had clinched victory in the Presidential election of 2024, he had been the Democratic Senator from Illinois to the US Senate. A billionaire in the tech industry with big contracts in China and South Korea. The four years of being the leader of the Free World had changed the man greatly as many President had been changed by the Office years before. From the unsure and simplistic businessman with political experience to a strong-arm, heavy-weight American leader. While his foreign policy was known for being primarily conservative but

In his past, Dirrell had been known as "Hardhat" or "Hardhead" for being involved in a number of high-profile construction and acquisition projects in Chicago and for being a shrewd business man that could not take no for an answer. He was a hard man that drove a hard bargain; that never changed. Only his confidence and his outgoing personality that allowed the man to be more charismatic and sell his ideas effectively to his people.

The President firmly grasped the handle of the door and pushed. There was the click of a turning fork and the door heaved forward with a light breeze. The blinds had been opened and the wall color exploded with gold-colored wallpaper. At the center of the room, the Presidential Seal and Crest with the image of a guarded Bald Eagle that spoke the ideals of the Office of the President and the ideals of the United States of America. The chairs were made of a silky satin or oiled leather couches. The President's desk, taken from the storage of a deceased West Point professor of Foreign Policy, sat in the back of the room toward the windows and marked by shiny gloss and the heavy live oak from which the desk was built – the same material that made old American warships impenetrable for outdated cannons so many centuries ago.

There were expensive panels cut into the walls near the embedded white shelves of the office that played stills from impactful moments in American history. Dirrell was a history hobbyist, collecting old gimmicks and odd items from the past. Some of the more notable images that transitioned into focus was an image of President Truman showing off an error-filled edition of the Chicago Tribune stating, "Dewey defeats Truman!" The President actually had a framed copy of one of those old newspapers but it was hidden somewhere at Camp David under a pile of other historical pieces.

Quickly stepping into the room and closing the door quietly behind him, Anton Dirrell marched his way over to the center of the room and opened up a hatch in the middle of the floor and pulled out a rolled-back television display.

The President grabbed his television remote off the top of his desk and turned on the television. He quickly swapped the channel to CNN before grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge hidden behind the Presidential desk.

The footage that jumped out at him made him drop the water bottle just as quick as he picked it up.

The headline: "Attack on Ginza? Tokyo Ablaze?" CNN was reporting on a sudden attack or incident in the Japanese capital – fast-moving, crumbly images from security cameras showed blurry four-legged creatures in armor and cloth. Humanoid beings charging at scrambling civilian crowds.

There were images of motionless victims numbered in the hundreds. The bodies, the dead. Blood in the streets.

The commentator, a young Sikh-looking woman, spoke in Australian-English. "We are receiving CCTV feed from Tokyo, Japan…oh my… there is a developing situation in the streets. People are reporting flying monsters, aliens, and men on horseback. Japanese shoppers are being gunned down in droves by what appear to be swords and archers. The streets of the Ginza district are chaotic and leave us with only these horrifying images. May God help these poor souls? We will keep you posted as more information comes in. Please stay tuned for this developing crisis."

The President threw his remote at his desk, attempting to put it back as the CNN report went to commercials. There was now a subtle dent in the wood itself.

The President looked around briskly, noting the closed door where Delilah was still sitting. Dirrell yanked open the door and called for Delilah. "Delilah! Get the staff together now! We got a big problem!"

Dirrell turned over to look out the window of the Oval Office as rain splashed against the building with dull pops. There was a Marine in his Dress uniform and a large overcoat braving the weather.

Slamming open the door, even as rain entered the Office and quickly ruined the President's suit and further scrambled his hair in the breeze and loose water droplets, Dirrell pointed at the man, demanding.

"Get me the Secretary of Defense and find out where the Joint Chief of Staff is – I need the War Room prepared now."

The Marine quickly saluted his Commander-in-Chief and rushed off into the West Wing to proceed with the orders; the Jarhead's footsteps were methodical and quick like a heartbeat. No one knew what Dirrell had seen but they knew when something was wrong – the President didn't know all the details yet but he needed to get a focus group together as fast as humanly possible – they were now working against the clock.

Rushing back to his desk and slamming the door, the now damp Anton Dirrell grabbed his landline and dialed up a specific number. America was now on a war footing. They had to act quickly.

"This is the President. I need you to look at any of the major news networks right now. Preferably CNN. I'll be right back with you, I need to make another call."

Dirrell quickly placed the caller at Line One before switching to Line Two and hit speed dial four. The sound of a connecting line was quickly met with the voice of a gruff sounding man. "Yes?"

"Get me a line to the Tokyo Embassy and the Japanese government and bring DEFCON from Five to Level Three. Action Order: Breach Knox. Chieftain-Actual, authenticate. Alpha. November. Tango. November. Dash-Delta. India. Romeo. Lima."

The line remained silent for a moment before a female voice replied with a simple, "Roger Chieftain" and ended with a quick click reporting that the line had been terminated. The message had been received and accepted. Washington D.C, the United States, and the world was now tuning their televisions to their major news networks as the greatest single attack on a sovereign nation since Nine-Eleven occurred and took the lives of many people, Japanese and foreigners.

In the wake of spent blood, an American cried bloody murder.

…

" _ **There never was a good war or a bad peace."**_ **– Benjamin Franklin, United States Founding Father and inventor, written in a newspaper under a pseudo-name**

…

"We are live in…three seconds and counting. Two. One-."

The studio lights intensified, the camera shutters were lifted and the designation light glowed green. The caption scroll flipped on.

The studio was live as the morning news jingle absorbed another fifteen seconds of screen time. There was silence and the camera operator gestured to the pair of news anchors on screen – they were officially live.

"Good morning, Tokyo City! I am Hanae Maki." The middle-aged, female news anchor smiled showing whitened teeth to her audience.

"And I am Nori Akiyama." The younger male news anchor added in with a cheerful wave and a minimal grin.

"Today is the Eighth of August, Twenty twenty-eight!" Akiyama informed the camera, reading the teleprompter.

"Today's weather is sky blue and cloudless. We have some lively news from around the city today – our first piece goes to the Chou Ward along the Bay Waterfront. Doujinshi has landed once again in Tokyo in a big way." Maki added.

"The biannual event, Comiket has arrived at the Chou Ward Exhibition Center and is open to the public today with a very large visiting population from around the world." The back panel behind Akiyama swapped to a picture of Tokyo Bay overlooking the Chou Ward.

"Among the attendees are prominent Web stars, amateur authors and artists, avid readers and plenty of cosplayers going around."

"According to the announcement, Comiket is completely open to the public for free for today only. The rest of the week will require paid admission. If you are interested in acquiring any self-published works at the convention – this is the time because they are being sold out fast. Our reporter on the scene tells us that there are currently some several thousand participants at the convention. Comiket is the largest doujinshi event in Tokyo and one of the largest gatherings in the world. We go live to our reporter, Hikari Hayashi at the Event Center overlooking the Bay. Hikari?" Hanae introduced her on-scene correspondent.

The main visual switched to the profile of another young media hostess standing in front of a large glass-covered building with Tokyo Bay in the far background of the setting.

"Good morning, Hanae – Nori," Hikari said, addressing directly to the camera. The hostess appeared to be standing on an indoor balcony.

"Morning!" The desk anchors replied off screen.

"I'm currently visiting a nearby coffeehouse overlooking the art celebrating event here in Ginza with a cup of Ryokucha Green Tea in hand, as you can see. With today's rare, blue skies and a nice Easterly gust out toward the Bay, there is a lack of pollution in the air. Today's weather is nearly perfect with near flawless vision. As you heard early, our Weather Report removed the Air Quality warning for the first time in two weeks. There are birds chirping nearby and the streets are crowded as everyone in the city seems to want to get in on this perfect day!"

"How's Ginza?" Nori Akiyama asked out of curiosity.

"Very crowded. It was nearly impossible to get here with our news van, there was a backup in nearby Kyobashi Ward Freeway. By far, the Tokyo traffic – mostly vacationers or teenagers attempting to enter the city from the suburbs or for families to escape to vacation resorts out in the countryside. Most Convention goers have managed to arrive in the Chou Ward arrived by alternative means like the Underground, Public Bus, Carpool, and Electric Tram."

"Have you been to the Convention yet?" Maki asked to get the segment going.

"Yes, I have Hanae. The people there are very friendly. There were much lesser known fictional characters walking the streets, brought to life, around the Convention Center and the shopping centers nearby. It has gotten so surreal that some of the visitors have described the event as 'entering a fantasy world.' Many fans are cosplaying as their favorite characters and much more are here to purchase their favorite doujinshi before they run out. The lines are thick with fans and much of the crowd has spilled out into the streets and the courtyard. Ward Police have closed off most of the street to vehicle traffic to prevent pedestrian endangerment and congestion among busy shoppers and the novel fans that have worked hard to bring their favorite stories to life." The camera quickly panned to the street below where crowds of fans and shoppers rushed about their day.

Hikari addressed the setting she was currently filming from. "To emphasize the huge number of fans and visitors today, I would like to introduce you to a few of our friends in the shop. Everyone, say hello!" The camera turned to face the interior of the coffee shop dominated by a busy crowd. The shop was accented by polished wooden floors, large glass panels, granite tables and desks, and a small waterfall display in the corner with artificial bamboo plants.

The crowd, mostly Comiket visitors easily identified by their tourist shirts or elaborate costumes.

"Ohayo! Good morning!" The enormous crowd of convention goers yelled to the camera and its audience.

The coffee shop was located on the third floor of the Mall of Ginza and sat across the hall from an expensive clothing store and a pair of escalators sitting between the two consumer establishments.

The two news anchors replied, off screen. "Good morning everyone! Have fun!" The camera quickly panned back toward Hikari.

"According to many of the convention organizers, this event has garnered more popularity than it has in over the last few events. Tickets sold out fast, within the first two days and are designed to last the entirety of admission for the entire event which will occur over the course of a week or so. Today is a rare day for Comiket because of free admission to the public allows just about anyone to enter the event."

"Tell us a bit about the convention itself, Hikari-san," Maki stated politely, off-camera.

"We actually have a pre-recorded segment with one of the major convention organizers, Nana Kazumi, a thirty-four-year-old who helped explain to us the reason for the increased participation and popularity of the event. The rest of the segment will be available on our network website following this broadcast."

Nana Kazumi's face quickly replaced Hikari's as the recording began to play. A microphone moved in front of the convention organizer.

"Tell me, how many expected participants do you have and how many people actually showed up today, Mrs. Kazumi?" Hikari asked the older woman from off camera.

"We were originally expecting about 250 thousand participants in the reflection of last year's bad weather between the wind and rains but it turns out with the weather today is much more beautiful and with all the prominent authors here we've really seen an increase in the number of our visitors. We, the convention managers, actually had about 150 thousand fans come down so far and expect 550 thousand by the end of the week; we believe it's because of the extended coverage of the event and the neighboring events here today in Ginza that we had such a huge and positive, supporting crowd. We haven't had this many visitors in quite some time due to a decline in the number of prominent doujinshi, however, with the support and coordination with nearby events we've seen more gamers and mainstream entertainment fans come down and enjoy the festivities and quench a bit of their youthful curiosity. We really appreciate all the support the community has given us through the years and we hope we can only continue to grow the popularity of our amateur novel market." Kazumi explained as the ambient noise of the convention goers traveled through the halls of the large convention center.

"That is a lot of people Kazumi-san! How did you manage to get so many people into such a small part of Greater Tokyo? The coordination would have been impossible."

"Well Hikari, it was difficult but we managed. With the help of the regular shops and tourist stops in this area of Ginza, given its tourist and shopping value on the ocean view, we found ways to keep people constantly moving and prevent pedestrian traffic. The Precinct Police provided several officers and patrol cars to lock down major intersections and divert vehicles to allow more free movement of event goers. The nearby Combat Arms Simulation Tournament helped to promote our event and theirs in kind through us so we have many convention goers traveling between the two events and the Ginza Mall. There are even more viewers tuning into the different convention events – this is the second year in a row where we've managed to double our microphone and camera count to increase viewership abroad. We are fast approaching carrying capacity so the ability for us to stream our event to the world helps to lower the load a bit as people from all over the world can tune in and participate as if in person. There are even a few body cameras going around to all streamers to view the floor."

"For our audience, when do you think will be the next event?"

"We set it up properly to happen twice a year, the next event will be in December. Truth be told, we tend to get fewer visitors around that time of the year due to the temperature but it is a much better time to get novels and our products because there is less competition."

"Well thank you for having us Mrs. Kazumi."

"Thank you for taking the time to visit your event!" The organizer replied in a cheerful nod of her head.

"You're very welcome, it has been a very friendly event. I hope you enjoy your time as well Kazumi-san." Hikari replied, shaking the hand of the woman on the television screen.

"You have a good day!"

"Domo arigato!"

The video of the interview quickly faded back into blackness before returning back to the face of Hikari.

"That sounds like a lot of fun, Hikari! Nori, are you a doujinshi fan?" Maki asked off camera to her cohost.

"No, but I have to agree, that seems like a very fun event. Hikari, you have a fun time and we'll see you back in the studio later!" Akiyama stated to his coworker.

A general announcement over the Mall intercom halted the news channel conversation, "We expect heavy crowds today due to an event in progress. Please follow the direction of the officials on duty."

"Thank you, Akiyama! I'll see you two—."

There was a sudden crash from behind Hikari causing a slight commotion and cut off the reporter. The camera tilted to face the outside of the coffee shop.

A young man dressed in an orange brand tee shirt and cargo shorts had collapsed to the ground near the escalators. He was noticeably twitching on the ground with a support beam laying in front of him. It was easy to assume that he had not been paying attention to where he was walking.

Hikari asked out loud as she clamped her mouth, "Is he alright?"

The man quickly got back up and held his head – it seemed he was doing just fine. Just a bit clumsy.

Turning back to the camera, Hikari grinned sheepishly. "Don't worry about him. He'll be fine."

The camera flipped back to the faces of the two co-hosts of the news network.

"Good to hear, Hikari. Now, remember Comiket will not be open for much longer to the public – today is the day to get involved." Akiyama explained to the audience.

"We have one more speaker before we move to commercials. An anime fan even in his political career and older age, Mr. Tarou Kanou, our dear Minister of Defense."

The camera swapped once again from the main camera and to a prerecorded video of an older man.

The Defense Minister was dressed in a standard suit and tie and he had some defining features to his face, some scraggly looking skin and flipped back hair, there were large bags under his eyes from sleepless nights. Kanou was a major fan of Japanese entertainment, video games, manga, and anime – it was a well-known fact among the Japanese population and it made him more amicable to the younger generation.

"Sir? Tell us a bit about yourself. What made you become a fan of anime?"

Before the Defense Minister was bloated out by a sudden transition from the pre-recorded video.

The words on the screen were strange but sudden. Even a bit worrying.

"Developing Situation in Ginza, Tokyo."

It had only been seconds ago when everything had been doing fine, even great.

For those at the epicenter, a war on innocents had begun as monsters escaped the darkness of a great Pantheon at Ginza, Fourth Street.

Death from another world.

…

" _ **We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."**_ **– Former Prime Minister Winston Churchill, 1942, Days into the Battle for Britain and the Blitz**

…

Today was a day of many firsts. That day, in August 2028, armed foot soldiers dressed like Romans had marched into midtown Tokyo in an attempt to claim it in the name of conquest, and, for the first time in its brief history, the Japanese Self-Defense Force engaged in urban warfare within a fractured but thriving metropolis, its own capital city. A bloody morass defined by a gray overcast, the smell of gun smoke, and the deep liquid red running through the streets between these Roman bodies and armor mixed with the decimated thousand corpses that they slaughtered – the entrance would have pot marked a fantasy novel.

For Colonel Chigurh Baxa Andrade of the United States Air Force, a man into the latter half of his first century, it was another bloody start to a new bloody war. The Colonel was due for a promotion any day now, this was the first day he had ridden into a combat zone in a Black Hawk helicopter. Yokota was on fire, metaphorically, as the Marine regiment there and the Seventh Marine Expeditionary Unit posted on the USS Normandy Beach in the bay were plunged into DEFCON One and sent out for battle a mere mile away from where they were: into the streets of Tokyo.

Andrade was a man of brown curly hair and a well-built form. Even after the years he had been in the service and aged so much, he still looked too young to be a …an uncle.

It had been the first day in a long time, he had been expected at that post to gear up for combat; today was the first day he had ever landed on top of a Command Post, the Seiko building in the Ginza District. It was the first time he'd seen combat take place literally underneath his nose with an MCR in his arms; in the case of a foreign assault on the CP, the rifle would be his ticket to safety and his ticket to defense.

The Colonel was the voice of the United States Forces Japan, a veteran commander who had known war through Desert Storm – the 1991 invasion of Iraq, Enduring Freedom – a walk into that hellhole called Afghanistan, Open Wind – the harbinger of collapse in the Middle East, and every American and NATO conflict fought since the advent of the 21st century. With the arrival of this new enemy who came to Ginza with conquest in their eyes, they met resistance at every turn - a resistance that found its command underneath a controversial colonel, an OG Crip, a man bathed in blood, from Bompton – the bloody streets of Compton. Andrade was currently the highest and most veteran American officer in the field with his hands deep in the situation that the world would come to know as the Ginza Incident.

He was dressed now, more as a foot soldier rather than a flag officer from the USAF, and he was drenched all the same as he stood before the stone foot of the black vehicle known as an LAV, an American Light-Armored Vehicle, and what felt like a million Marines swarming the ground for undead enemies. The dead scattered as the Marines skewered through the bisected corpses, some torn apart by explosives and others eliminated by lead like producing Swiss cheese. The enemy was given the least respect, especially after being responsible for the murder of thousands – white tarps containing the remains of Japanese citizens lined the sidewalks, removed from the asphalt where they had fallen during the massacre and where their blood had been spilled by the gallon-load. The enemy bodies were everywhere and they bleed just as much as their victims – to think thousands of them had come out of that dark void, from within that wormhole that looked so much like an Ancient Roman or Greek Pantheon.

Why was the Colonel here in this nightmare-filled city block? He wasn't here to fight against these Romans personally, of course, but he was an American on Japanese ground, and the Japanese needed someone to talk to. The young enterprising Army Ranger which he had recognized as the first responder to this fiasco had things well in hand anyway: acting as an officer above his stripes in the heat of conflict for, as far as he knew, his first day in combat. In all honesty, it was a spectacle to be a witness to the Ranger's commanding demeanor.

"This is Hitman Actual to all responding Marine Fireteams. We have confirmed hostiles in the Sony Building across from the Subway Station. Do we have confirmation of units tasked with clearing both the Metro and the Sony Building, over?"

He was still out there, leading his reinforcements and fighting in his regular civilian clothing – jeans, sneakers, and a tee shirt and armed with nothing but what he had collected from those that heeded his call to battle – scavenged gear and equipment from the Police, the Defense Force, and his own Ranger outfit.

His Ranger team platoon was with him, out in that mess. They had been the first out of Yokota after nearly hijacking a Black Hawk and demanding to be flown to assist their Platoon Leader – it was like something out of a Marvel movie.

They had been at the forefront of the fighting with the JSDF first responders; they helped establish a perimeter around Ginza as best they could as the dragons and wyverns ruled the sky and fireworks and cheap firearms from citizen-fighters attempted to shoot them down.

The Colonel knew the Rangers, or, at least, Lieutenant Emerson and his chalk.

He would have to thank him later, in some cynical sense, for ruining his boots as he looked at how distinctly red the streets ran. The JSDF Cobras and the Seventh MEU's air assets had torn the enemy asunder. Pieces of flesh, steel, and bone littered the street in a sickening display. Animals of the very real and fantastical sort were strewn about, being kicked or towed into piles for later sorting.

The bodies of the assumed-Romans and their armor had climbed and climbed into such horrible monuments of towering bodies in respect to the efficient killer that was modern warfare. Even the flies didn't dare disturb these mounds of dead. Every once and a while, a body would emerge to be alive within the stack; they would be drenched in the blood of his fellow soldiers, muttering in a foreign tongue. Those that survived, that surrendered or were subdued, were taken to the docks of the Tokyo Bay to be processed, and slowly, ever slowly, the defeated, obliterated enemy force of the day was revealed.

And no matter what happened, no matter how history had viewed this day, Andrade knew, the JSDF could commit no wrong, for this was their land, and their blood had been spilled.

Another day, another war, and for that day the entire world for him had centered on Ginza.

Nothing about China's decade-long and continuous intrusion into Japanese and Vietnamese oceanic territory, nothing about the US involvement in Mexico's ever-heightening Cartel War, nothing about the day-to-day tribulations of an America forever entrenched in the Middle East. Today was a day focused solely on the Battle of Ginza, and as that day ended, the Colonel became a guilty victor, standing before another mystery.

His personal guard had been ever alert and yet, there was no need when they found themselves conquerors of this dark heart of a city. Marines from the Seventh along with some M1A5s tanks, airlifted in by the Seventh's Stork Quadcopters, had locked Ginza down from the inside out.

If anything else came, the Marines would come and they would see – and they, the enemy, would be conquered.

The gateway, shaped like a hall to fallen Gods, had hummed like the sound of Space, like the Universe Background Noise; it was a promise that something existed beyond the black, beyond the visible darkness.

For nearly a hundred years the United States had known its enemies, inside and out. They had been in their element – fighting wars they might not have won holistically but understood well enough – this situation was a new case. From the advent of international espionage and a battle space dominated by Cyberwarfare, every iota of data and information was at the fingertips of America's most senior and prestigious military planners backed by the combined efforts of leadership and resources taken from the nation's own houses of men-in-black or the intelligence centers of allies the world over.

But that could only pertain to the enemies on Earth.

Where the enemy came from beyond the Earth, taken from a place beyond the realm of possibility and that of the Universe. They were unknown, but not enough to be alien.

To think about what was happening now would've driven Andrade, and indeed most people, insane. So he, and by extension, most people didn't. They didn't think about the fact that a portal had opened up in Ginza by a method unknown to anyone that could only be described as magic, and from this gateway, an army of storybook-legions from the Roman Empire spilled forth into the modern era.

This fairytale was not so. Not when those legions came to kill the innocent. This was no fantasy, this was a dark reality.

"It fucking never rains in Compton." Andrade spat as he threw a poncho over his head as he felt the rain, the tears of the Earth on this sad scene. There was work to be done, wet or dry.

The only other curiosity was found in the weather. It was cloudless this morning, how did this storm just suddenly appear? Had it been spontaneous, a terrible miracle? Had it been destiny?

That death on an epic scale would bring the rains of mourning upon the dead, the dying, and the vengeful. The coming of rain to set the mood and to begin the drumbeats of war.


	2. Rapid Response

This chapter is long overdue so I want to thank everyone for sticking around and waiting for me. Special thanks goes out to BlueWay, again for allowing me to create this parallel work to Manifest Destiny and his provision of several scenes not shown in the original Manifest Destiny.

While I haven't shown off any actual correspondence to the events that defined the GATE canon, I've been fine alluding to it. Next chapter should be more direct and more focused on both the original fiction and Manifest Destiny. I consider politics and character drama will be a focal point of this story, don't expect too much action though, speech and set pieces will be a more important aspect of this story to discuss more social than logistical themes in this story. Though, nothing is set in stone.

Let's answer a few overdue questions first.

Kilo 6, thanks for stopping by again. That issue about the Marines and Army designations was an accident. I'll try to prevent it from here on out.

Rear Mirrors, politics aside. I know the difference in theocratic identity and political theory that comes involving the highly volatile situation in the Middle East. The actual situation in the Middle East, at least on my part, you can find by looking back at the timeline in Manifest Destiny – I co-wrote that piece with Blue. As for my inclusion of Sword Art Online was simply an off put reference – both GATE and SAO were anime created by A1 Pictures, while they have different authors, the connection remains. I was and still currently am working on a Sword Art Online fanfic, so, for my sake I was just attempting to make a connection. Either way, the scene has been scrapped.

As for comparisons to actual historical events – Tundra Fox. I don't really do much reading of history books these days beyond what is required in class and what I grasp from the World Wide Web. I created my work based mostly on themes that affect our world today and the plot points that BlueWay set up for me and I expanded upon them.

A keynote on this chapter, I actually viewed Blackburn as a very different character than the one I'm currently writing right now. When I first envisioned the character, it reflected closer to my design shown in Our Crusade which shares a similar scene to this chapter. The establishment of the Second Korean War has greatly shifted my design. This chapter should expand on it a bit.

Read and Review please. BlueWay should have another chapter out tomorrow.

…

 **["Rapid Response"]**

 **[Summer 2028]**

…

 _ **"If there is a Destiny in this disappointing reality, it only manifests in the destruction of the world. Nothing lasts forever – Mankind is the greatest hypocrite in this Universe; with the ability to build and destroy and yet they can never make up their minds. Humanity cannot decide what it wants and therefore, we will kill the Earth." –**_ **Anonymous, Unidentified Environmental Activist, 2026**

…

The President of the United States was on the war path.

Internally, he was balling at the terror he had seen on screen from the news reports on CNN and BBC and all the other worldwide news networks. The death, the destruction, the blood in the streets of Tokyo.

There had been no warning. There had been no chance for preparation. The attack came out of the blue and was being played live from CCTV security cameras and amateur vlogs all across Japan for the entire world to see. There was no chance to coat the news and hide the horrors. It was like Nine-Eleven all over again. Just like Pearl Harbor, it came without warning. There was blood in the streets.

And so Dirrell had put on a neutral frown as he wrapped his nose and mouth into a grim, cross-fingered balance upon his desk with his elbows pressing down on the fine wood of his old desk. The sound of constant thumping was the subtle shaking of his arms, rage, anger; terror at being placed into a position that should have been impossible.

Japanese were dead in the thousands. There may have been internationals caught in the crossfire. Maybe even Americans…the ramifications, the Japanese would want blood. The American people would want answers and a response. One he would personally not want to give and answers he just could not answer.

The staff was scrambling. The DEFCON level had been lowered to a war footing. Japan, and by extension, big brother America had just been caught with their pants down.

The USA would be going to war, and during an election season. Sure, it was commonplace for American Presidents to win elections if they end up declaring wars but in this day and age? The United States military had been in a long, extensive conflict since '01 of the twenty-first century in the War on Terror. Hell, technically it was still going on.

That's what the previous administration got for not establishing clear definitions of victory or for doing things the easy and simple way. Rather the United States in the Middle East with its NATO and regional allies had to deal with fuck up after fuck up because one solution became a problem and that solution became another problem down the line.

The United States was tired of war and without enough information to paint a positive picture enough to calm the call for blood? Well, let's just say the popularity of whoever wins the Republican National Convention was going to gain ten percent in popularity. Maybe more if he can put out enough spit that would paint a decent story before Dirrell could play damage control.

Then there was the total crapshoot that was the assembly of the resident Joint Chiefs, the next highest ranking military officers and experts, and the American intelligence community.

Want to hear an oxymoron? Military Intelligence.

The men sitting around the Oval Office decorum were the most important military and intelligence officers in the land. Plus the much more trustworthy and friendly advisors and politicians that made up Dirrell's own political inner circle. Both television monitors hidden in the floor mats had been pulled out so that a group chat could be convened. The military men in the room and on screen did not look pleased. They were all marked by facial expressions of shock, terror, rage, and fatigue. Plus half of them were ambiguous toward Dirrell, he knew it because he had his friends in the intelligence community and he knew what his generals and admirals said behind his back. Dirrell wasn't the most popular guy in the military community. A liberal business tycoon and political mastermind, he didn't fit the great wise leader trope these veterans had forced themselves to imagine. They were a relic of the last Republican administration, the one Dirrell had beaten back at the height of the Second Korean Conflict.

There was animosity between the Commander-in-Chief and his military but they both agreed that the other was reasonable and held the country's best interests in mind. Dirrell to the generals and admirals was a fucked up political whack job but he knew how to run a country and lead a war front effectively, plus he trusted his subordinates to get their job done which they never really disappointed.

The President in return had not needed to remove anyone from their position as they all were begrudging, good at their jobs. That was all that Dirrell needed from them, they could hate him as long as they did their job and didn't question him without valid merit. As long as the group didn't plan a coup, he was content with them. It didn't help the fact that a lot of military folks had been seeping into politics recently though so the worry of usurpation of the Presidency by a military type wasn't out of the question.

Even as Dirrell trusted these men to do their job, he wasn't unaware of threats to a second term. He was always checking his back every few steps for signs of rivals in his midst. He was a careful man.

"So, gentlemen and ladies. What do we know so far?" Dirrell asked as he moved to study the many faces in the Oval Office. A video of dying Japanese, cut down by a barrage of arrows, was shown in his blind.

"We're just as unsure as you Mr. President. We've got NSA scooping through the video logs as they roll right now sir. CIA is checking with its assets in the Tokyo area. We've also got vague reports of some of our GIs in the area…" The Director of the Joint Chiefs said quietly from his video feed in Germany since he could not make the meeting; he was currently mediating a discussion on rotational force deployments to East Europe and major nations in the Euro Zone.

"So still nothing. I've got an emergency address on CSPN in half an hour and still nothing, no new developments. What the fuck people?" The President slammed a fist on the desk in anger.

"We have a confirmed KIA of an American citizen sir. Chad Thomas, exchange student to the University of Tokyo, an NYU student, and known anime fan. There was a major comic book and video game convention in Ginza this week sir. We believe he was caught in the crossfire…"

"Anything else? That just means we're going to have a bunch of pissed off Americans. We need a solid answer here."

"We're waking Yokota, Colonel Chigurh Andrade of USAF is working in tandem with the Japanese government to deploy Force Japan units into the district. A unit of Japanese ground forces has already been moved into the city. They've been making headway to create a blockade around the district with the Tokyo Police. Our Marines should be in the city in a few minutes."

"So, our Marines are in the town. The Japanese government is closing down this Ginza district and we're still without any intelligence on the situation. What about our embassy?"

"They've gone dark and the staffers have been moved to the panic room. Their security detail reported that all but three people are unaccounted for. Two were visiting outside Tokyo with the Japanese government and another was visiting family in the countryside. One had the day off, we don't know of that one's whereabouts."

"Who is it?" The President sighed, bridged his nose and squinted in frustration. No solid intelligence, the embassy caught in the crossfire, Tokyo in flames and both missing and dead Americans.

"A naval officer, sir. Umm…let's see, a Lieutenant Commander Blackburn. He left Yokosuka Naval Base this morning and headed for Tokyo on personal business," Rear Admiral Jameson McLean stated as he looked at some of his papers with a pen to his lips. "He was out with another officer, an electronic warfare pilot on my command staff. Lieutenant Athena Lin." The admiral was the flag officer for Yokosuka.

"…that's my guy." Admiral Nathaniel Lincoln, often known as Abe, whispered at the mention of Blackburn from the conference room on his aircraft carrier.

"What was that, Admiral?" The President asked turning to the face of the lighter-skinned African-American flag officer on his monitor.

"That would be one of my men. He's one of my junior staffers for SOC. Annapolis graduate."

"Don't worry Lincoln, I'll go get some of my men to go and retrieve those two. We need everyone on this one." McLean addressed his fellow naval officer in Lincoln, his facial appearance only could be read as, stern.

"Gentlemen, keep me updated on this issue. I want a situation report every half hour and I want intelligence reports on the JSDF movements, play-by-play. Find our people and find out who these damned archers are. We're on the clock. Get to work."

A chorus of "Yes, Mr. President," echoed through the Oval Office as a dozen military and intelligence officers dropped off the group chat. From here on out, all eyes and ears were pointed at Japan and somewhere in that mess was a pair of missing sailors and a whole bunch of American citizens, maybe even other military units. It was too early to say.

The United States was at war with an enemy it did not know. The political nightmare was going to be foul, Dirrell could see it in his mind. He started to think quietly as the Oval Office's occupants began to quietly scramble for information on the attacks.

Dirrell thought back to the mention of those two missing naval officers. Where could they be now? A consideration came to mind.

"Delilah."

The President's Secretary looked up from her temporary armchair next to the military officers on the couch.

"Could you contact Director Doyle for access to the military files on a Lieutenant Commander Blackburn and a Lieutenant Athena Lin. Mention that both are Navy and stationed at Yokosuka. I would like to see their dossiers."

The older woman nodded in response to the President's request and quickly excused herself from the room, leaving her Macintosh on the coffee table at the center of the office.

The President switched his television monitor back to the BBC network to check on the international media reports on Japan. It was a bad day with the media was getting information faster than the government.

The telephone on the President's desk rang quickly. Dirrell was quick in picking up the machine before it rang again, in situations like this – seconds and quick decision-making was both critical and valuable.

"Yes. Hmmm. Rangers deployed ahead of the main force? Interesting…"

…

" _ **Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories." – Sun Tzu**_ **, Historic Chinese General, Author of "** _ **The Art of War**_ **," Unknown Printing**

…

Another colonel, a notable colonel such as he, sitting at a table of the tent as a map of Ginza was put out, already marked up in red. The two officers locked eyes. A greying man, a white man in face with impossibly blue eyes and face, under certain lighting conditions, looked like a fleshed out skull.

A hand was given and shaken. "Colonel Adrian Pierce. 7th Marine Expeditionary Unit."

The man who saved Seoul. A once lieutenant colonel who, instead of routing his unit to the rest of the allied forces, sent them into North Korea to secure the main firebase of the invasion and promptly turning their guns against their own side.

The things he had to do in order to hold that firebase were not understated, all the way up to his Medal of Honor.

Andrade nodded. "It's nice to finally make the acquaintance personally colonel."

Pierce had tried to smile, but it was hard to do so when in the middle of a combat zone, gunfire still ringing out around them in the buildings.

"Likewise colonel." The man had glanced at the man's Velcro nametag on his vest. "I thought you were due a promotion to flag officer any day now."

"I am, but I doubt they let generals out in the field like this."

The buzz of helicopters, the patter of rain, the smell of war and death was not a foreign ambient scent to Andrade, he'd done his time in the Middle East all the same, but now was a particularly different brand of war. A war of Empire.

Pierce had motioned to Andrade to follow as he racked his own rifle back, into the rain and just shy of the Gate itself, in the middle of the intersection that it opened up in. With a pointing hand Pierce had signaled down each way with a note on each.

"We have an active perimeter set up in three kilometers in each section: catching the retreating Romans who were left behind and keeping civilians and anyone else out. The north road checkpoint is completely under my jurisdiction and the west is under joint control of both my Marines and a Lieutenant General Hazama's JSDF contingent. South and east are also underneath JSDF control but right now we have Ground Zero locked down as you can see."

Andrade motioned to the concrete. "And this place is completely safe for us?"

Pierce nodded. "Sir the enemy force enmasse is one of the most ineffectual formations I've ever had to deploy against. Their Romans, through and through. They can't touch us."

"Where's the JSDF set up?"

"Their GHQ is at the Imperial Palace, a 2nd Lieutenant Itami is always on the line. Keeps asking for reports of anymore civilians." While a pile existed for the Romans, a somewhat admitted disrespectful display for the thousands that had been killed, entire streets were devoted to counting the bodies of the innocent.

As a man who had lived through September 11th, on combat alert when the orders came down and the Forever War began, he remembered what the feeling of mass casualties because of some act of terror. This was the closest he had felt to that emotion, ever since that day, nearly three decades ago.

He could only imagine the years ahead for Japan, dealing with this.

Pierce had lit a cigarette against the rain, the smoke climbing into the sky like so many fires still burning throughout Ginza. "You smoke, Colonel Andrade?"

"Call me Chigurh, and no. Wife quit around the time we had the kids and I never bothered."

A rather domestic discussion amidst the backdrop of a war to be waged, a JSDF cobra flying over, only to knock the cigarette out of Pierce's lips. "Fuck you too." he had lamented, taking another out as the puddles of water and blood broke down the flame. "Now, General Mackerson last spoke to me when my first response teams were rappelling down with my Major Sevson, he said to defer all onsite theatrics to you, Andrade."

Mackerson was the Commander of all United States Forces stationed in Japan, a man younger than Andrade even. It was in good taste that Andrade was given the helm for the sake of today. He knew what to do, and Andrade had been through enough to not buckle under that pressure.

"You got a play for the JSDF?" Andrade asked Pierce, the man shrugging.

"No." was the simple answer. No theatrics or bellyaching.

"Well, we touched down here first, we're staying, hell or high water." With the way the rain was coming down, both were likely options.

"Is that an order, colonel?" Pierce asked in his polite demeanor.

"Affirmative."

After a drag, a blow, all Pierce did was look at his reflection in the puddle below him. He wanted to be a simple man, and thus, simple men didn't question the order of a person who knew better in the long run. His blue eyes pulsed as he barked the commander's bark. "Alright! Hull down the M1s! I need my RTO to contact Sevson ASAP! We're locking down Ginza until further notice!"

…

" _ **War is Hell; and we love the Hell out of it."**_ **– Anonymous, unknown year or context**

…

It is a natural apparition that children fall in love with violence and war, it is an age-old Human instinct.

They crave the rush of adrenaline, the physical impact of punches and shoves, and are naturally unrefined in their search to dominate any competition they can find. War is inbred into the Human Condition.

Kids grow up learning about war as the neighborhood tussle or the bully down the street – they might grow to find it when they play backyard games like Cowboys & Indians or playing competitive sports like Rugby or American Football, they might find it in simulating history's finest battles or just a simple rush to the movies. The feeling and adaptation exists within but the condition of seeing true violence, true conflict is alien to children and by far, most civilians.

Experiencing war changes a person's outlook on life – it validates primal beliefs some of us try to negate or forget even exist. Seeing tragedy isn't enough to know the purest form of war, nor is it to be in the thick of sudden tragedy. War can only becoming pure and can only be fully understand when it is experienced over and over again. When it becomes normalcy and fear becomes an addiction of aggression.

Once you have come to know this state of being, your life changes forever and the idea of escaping is never again possible or considered – because war makes us Human. It shows us who we truly are because it tears away any shadow of doubt and removes any shield of morality.

Once you know War, you will never be the same again – you will come to crave it, not in the sense of violence but the powers that come with it.

That feeling of being on the constant verge between life and death, the comradery found with those around you, the loss of self in sensual overload the more primitive state of mind takes control in the face of danger. War is an addiction, and those that fail to recognize it will fail to understand how to serve and help those that have known it.

Ever since finding what war truly was, there are those that have been unable to get enough of it. For some, they have been unable to replicate the certain rush of the battlefield but have attempted to recreate it nonetheless.

In the forests beyond the city lights of Tokyo, shadows were dancing in the shade of great Japanese Oak trees. There were those seeking that particular rush.

For the man of the hour, not having immediate access to the Internet meant an inability to know that Tokyo beyond the trees was now a warzone. Only the rush mattered.

Andrew Blackburn, an officer in the United States Navy, was too busy trying to fight another enemy to check his phone or know that a city away, a war was actually being waged. Distance of any kind had a way of isolating you from society, you are only able to see beyond your horizons.

This officer, Blackburn, and sometimes known as Black, was an unusually experienced individual. An engineer, a politician, a sailor. A warrior. Thirty years old and having experienced more than most people see or feel in their entire lifetimes. Many of those moments might have shortened his lifespan, but for the naval officer, pretending to fight a war could be just as stimulating as being under real gunfire.

Sure, he didn't get the rush and the tunnel vision but that knowledge that he could get hurt and there were people out there that were trying to harm him allowed the normally restrained man to let go of his rational side and simply get lost in the action. He stopped seeing civilians and stopped seeing little white pellets from airsoft guns.

He saw shadows deep in the trees. He saw paths of advancement, potential cover, plentiful hiding spots and effective flanks in practice. The shadows became windows in bombed out buildings. The unseen hostiles became very alive North Korean soldiers.

The naval officer wasn't in Japan anymore, he was a sea away, on the Korean Peninsula fighting a nation that could only be described as the world's largest death cult. It wasn't 2028, it was two years before, 2026. Seoul was a battlefield and a jungle of burnt wood and twisted steel.

Blackburn imagined civilian bodies literally the ground, more so than what had actually been there during the original battle, but still, he saw blood and death. He didn't take a second to mourn as his mind focused on eliminating the enemy.

"Black. I'm out of Thunders."

The naval officer turned to his ally in this fight, a woman his age, though her actual identity was hard to decipher. Sometimes she was his best friend. Sometimes she was his lover. Other times, he forgot truly where he was and he imagine her as a female South Korean UDT that would be obliterated by a North Korean hand grenade. Other times she became a male US Army medic trying his best to save the life of his squad's designated marksman only to be forced to pick up the man's weapon when everyone else had died and when all the infantry had been killed by North Korean artillery fire.

"You mean grenades? How close are the Nork lines?"

"Black. Black. Think – you're playing airsoft. This isn't Korea. Snap out of it."

"What? Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

Lieutenant Athena 'Lindsay' Lin frowned in concern as the man in front of her shook his head out of a day spell.

"You alright?"

"Never been better."

"You don't look that well. That's the first time you've had a daydream about Korea in, like, six months."

"Accident. Just random spell. Let's go get these bastards."

Normally, he wouldn't get caught up in the moment and overwhelmed by memories of war but there were those rare moments where the memories become too vivid and you're reliving them over again.

You never forget war.

Blackburn was leaning against a fallen Oak tree burying halfway into a notable ditch. Athena, his companion and fireteam buddy, was leaning into his side. She wasn't there for herself, she wasn't doing it out of a romantic gesture, though… It was reassurance – a reminder that she was there and with him on the ground.

"We're out of the Thunder B's?" Blackburn asked as he noted that his last pack of simulation weapons were missing.

"Yeah. Used the last one on a greenie, kid didn't even see it land behind him. Was yelling because it hit his ass cheek."

"Ouch."

"Doesn't even begin to describe it."

The two fell into a silence as they waited. Normally, they would have adopted a more pronounced and direct approach to fighting their enemies, especially since the range on simulation weapons like airsoft guns were highly limited in comparison to actual firearms. Because, lives were at stake – the variation of Team Deathmatch they were currently playing was based on a single-life rule and the majority of Blackburn's team had already been eliminated, mostly due to human error and terrible balancing on the referee's part. Then again, it wasn't the guy's fault since he couldn't gauge the ability of a bunch of teenagers and young adults dressed in attire that could only be described between African child-soldiers and Soldiers of Fortune.

Athena tossed away a spent magazine from her customized Sig 552 carbine. The woman was currently dressed in a surplus JGSDF-style camouflage, one of the out of date models. She had wrapped her dark brown hair into a ponytail but failed to hide red highlights. In brighter light, she would have easily given herself away. Without a hat besides a mask and a pair of goggles, she was leaning on risky – a good shot would definitely leave a welt.

Blackburn himself was dressed more appropriately in a Marine MARPAT pattern with a Multicam baseball cap. His gear was a lot heavier and more encompassing that included a plate carrier and an assault pack. He carried an old M4 rifle with a CQBR Rail System.

The naval officer picked up the spent magazine off the ground, "You know this is expensive shit right?"

"At this point, I don't care."

"Whatever, Lindsay."

"Black. Fuck you."

From the shadows of the trees nearby a voice could be heard muttering in broken English, "Stupid Americans."

Athena just shrugged at the whisper from the trees. Blackburn looked up over the log only for a sniper round to glance near his head. He quickly ducked back into cover from the round.

"What do you suggest?" Blackburn looked toward the woman.

"Reposition."

"Alright. You take point?" The male naval officer asked his fellow officer.

"Sure. On my count of three. We leave on the number."

"Okay. I'll cover you." Blackburn said as he tensed and aimed his M4 carbine over the top of the log without sticking out his head. Technically, it was considered dirty to blind fire but as long as Blackburn didn't fire the gun, he was fine.

"One."

Athena switched from leaning against the tree and swapped to a crouching position and readying to move toward a nearby encampment of rocks. From this area, the dirt looked firm enough to be dry – even if the forest was still damp from recent rains.

"Two. And three."

Athena burst from their cover and Blackburn soldiered up to the top of cover and let out a short burst that covered a half-decent arc through the woods. No confirmed kills. A burst of enemy fire erupted with the snuff of a tracer unit, a tool similar to a sound suppressor echoing across the clearing.

"Fuck!" Athena yelled in anger as she slid into the new ditch. From Blackburn's position, he made out her pants sliding into the dirt and came up covered in pure black and brown – it hadn't been dry as it seemed. Someone was going to be covered in mud until they got back to Yokosuka.

A whistle went off just as Blackburn was about to call out to see if she was fine. Out of the shadows, teenagers and young adults began to wander into the clearing that marked the center of the airsoft field.

Blackburn looked to the referee as he glanced down at his watch. "We still got a bit of time left, what's the occasion?"

The man in an orange vest, the ref, replied in a bit of broken English. "Tokyo attack."

Blackburn looked at him in confusion.

"Terrorist…"

"Oh. Thanks…shit. Athena?" Blackburn turned to his partner in crime still cursing, switching to Chinese.

"Nǐ sǐ pì yǎn!"

"Yeah. Your butt is covered in brown crap. We'll take care of it later. Let's get back to the staging area."

"They said a terror attack?" Athena asked as she moved to lean against Blackburn.

"Yeah. Don't know anything until I get back to my phone back at base camp."

"Can you wipe off some of the dirt before we go?"

Andrew just shrugged and wiped off some of the stray mud on her back from sliding in the mud.

"Done." The male officer said.

Athena scrapped off her thighs and the two began to follow the rest of the fighters back along the path back to base camp. For everyone on this airsoft field, their minds were no longer in the game – it was on the potential tragedy waiting for them.

"We need to get in contact with Yokosuka." Athena said as an afterthought.

"Agreed." In a running jog, they both broke off heading out of the darkness of the forest and back into the light of day. Clouds could be made out gathering overhead and blocking out the sun. The world did not seem so cheerful anymore.

…

" _ **Do you remember where you were when everything fell apart? Do you remember where you were when the towers fell?"**_ **– Anonymous, Post-September 11, 2001**

…

For those back at base camp, life had been simple and straight forward. Just a bunch of basic constructs. A few prefab structures. A bunch of picnic tables under trees. There were a few tents for the overnighters.

A television had been set up in the outdoor pavilion, an area compared to an outdoor cafeteria almost. The channel had been swapped to some basic anime – Mei Co, "Magic Company."

Everything seemed to be going well, there were a few parents and kids not playing airsoft sitting around talking in joyful speech and eating lunch.

The majority of the airsoft field's attendees were still in the thick a full acre distance away in the forest shooting their simulation rifles at one another. It was quiet.

There wasn't much pedestrian or car traffic coming down these farm roads near the game field, but a few roaring engines signified something approaching fast. Heavy diesel, maybe an eighteen wheeler like a cargo or gas truck. In these woods, it was a common sight along the roadway. That had been expected and few took a moment to glance toward the road, no one was expecting the unexpected.

A large tan truck, the military type roared to a halt in front of the business establishment. Behind the vehicle was another truck of similar design and two American-built Hummers. The workhorse of the American military since the last century though it had long been phased out besides for the reserves and noncombatant units, the MRAPs and JLTVs had taken prominence in an era of road-side IEDs and rocket-propelled grenades.

The establishment owner quickly approached the vehicles as they were brought to a full stop and men in combat armor burst out the back in a combative manner.

"What is going on?" The Japanese man asked as a pair of US Naval Security NCOs approached the front of the airsoft field.

"We're looking for some Americans – we have reason to believe they are somewhat frequent to your establishment." One of the men stated as he showed the Japanese man his police badge.

"What is the problem? I need to know the issue before I can help you with identifying who you're looking for. We have a number of Americans that regularly visit this particular field – we are closest to the Greater Tokyo Residential Area of course and by far one of the most popular." The man's English was polished but still carried the thick Japanese accent.

"Do you know what is currently occurring down at Ginza District at this moment? The place is a warzone."

"What do you mean?" The Japanese man asked them. He turned around and walked over to the main television monitor at the pavilion.

Film from a notable Japanese news network revealed CCTV footage of armored men on horseback, crowds of humanoid monsters, and empty streets only marked in red of spent blood and crushed bodies from marching murderer. A massacre in the making.

The television footage was subbed in English subtitles: "No one knows the current situation in Tokyo City but there seems to be an ongoing attack. Military and Police forces have deployed and locked down the Chou Ward in attempts to contain the fighting. There are reports of thousands of casualties, many from the streets of the often-busy Ginza District. The death toll remains unknown, however, many are already reporting it to be in the hundreds to thousands. A periodic media blackout has currently been placed on the situation however as the Defense Force, many deployed from nearby bases such as Yokota or Yokosuka, continue to fight and prevent the bloodshed. There are rumors of American forces also being deployed into the mix satisfying the old tenant of Article Nine of the Japanese Constitution."

The American NCO that had spoken before spoke again, "That is what is currently happening. Per United States military policy, we are required to secure senior command elements near the combat zone. We believe that a Lieutenant Commander by the name of Andrew Wei Blackburn is a regular patron of this airsoft field. We would appreciate if you could get him for us."

"Yes sirs. Give me a few minutes, Mr. Blackburn is currently still on the field – given the situation in Tokyo, however, we might as well postpone our daily activities. A battle in Tokyo it seems?"

"Yes." There was only silence from the American sailors as they waited in anticipation. Behind them, the rest of the security teams, two squads of eight sailors and Marines were posted in a defensive position around the establishment and their vehicles.

While the Chou Ward was being locked down to prevent the enemy from escaping the warzone, there was still the possibility of them attempting and even succeeding to escape city limits and everyone needed to be on their guard.

The owner of the airsoft field quickly pulled out a radio and made a call to one of his employees, a field referee. In quick Japanese, he told him that there was an attack on Ginza and that the game needed to end and he needed to bring all his patrons back. The situation was really bad.

He turned to the noncommissioned officers in charge of the security detail, "The Blackburn man and his friend will arrive in a few moments."

"Friend?" The other, mostly silent NCO asked in confusion. This officer was a woman in her late twenties.

"Hmm. Yes, an Athena Lin – another American it seems."

"Oh, okay then."

It took them a bit but a randomized group of airsoft players slowly arrived in no particular order. There were some Koreans in the mix, a few American kids, and a bunch of Japanese adults and teenagers. At the head of the group was an American woman with a brown ponytail and red highlights with a wild expression on her face. She was dressed in a JGSDF uniform, one of the outdated models but she was clearly an American woman given her non-oriental appearance. A Sino-American, Andrew Blackburn based on the photos provided to the unit, trailed behind her.

They both looked toward the small security convoy and realized the presence. Someone up high had come to pick them up. Seems the pair would not be required to make as many calls out to base after all.

The male, Andrew Blackburn, had black hair obliterated into a lazy buzz cut and wore a baseball cap backwards on his head. His chest plate read, "Riptide," a nickname with unknown significance to the NCOs.

"Lieutenant Commander Blackburn?"

"That's me." The man in MARPAT camo replied.

"We need you to return to Yokosuka with us immediately, DEFCON has been lowered to a war footing." The male NCO stated.

"What is the current situation? What about the other Americans here?" Blackburn asked. The woman, Athena remained silent as the NCOs and the superior officer spoke to one another.

"Ginza is under lockdown, there is a lot of fighting taking place in the business district. We have confirmed the death of one American student in town but the total death count remain unknown. The other citizens will have to remain here, our orders are to take you back to the CP under the pretense of needing all senior commanders to be secured and prepared for a potential war."

"What about Athena?" Blackburn asked, he gestured to his female friend.

"She's military right?"

"A Lieutenant, works for Rear Admiral McLean. She should be coming too."

"Fine, ma'am. Get your gear together. We must leave ASAP."

The quartet of NCOs and COs quickly came to a silent agreement and broke off to handle their own jobs.

Blackburn quickly pointed to the sports bags that contained most of the pair's airsoft gear. "Athena, can you get that. I'll get the guns and other stuff. I need to talk to the security personnel."

Athena simply nodded, she gave Andrew a quick one-armed bear hug and then rushed off to the bags. Blackburn leaned back into the embrace before taking her Sig 552 and walked over to the NCOs who were quickly ordering their people back into the trucks.

"Let's go people, we need to be back in Tokyo in twenty minutes. I want magazines topped off and everyone prepared for a fight. We don't know the current situation with our enemies. Just be wary!" The female NCO yelled as she moved to one of the Humvees. Most of the sailors and Marines were armed with the current service rifle of the United States Armed Forces, at least in limited quantities, the Colt-made MC901, the Colt Modular Carbine, though, the original M4A1 is still numerically to the new Colt replacement. The current philosophy of the United States military has brought on many new weapons into the service, some familiar and others, new and unfamiliar like the respected MCR-1 which has in large numbers, become the field rifle of the United States' Special Forces community alongside its age older partners in service, the Mk.17 SCAR and the H&K M/416.

"Operating on the newer system?" Blackburn asked out of curiosity.

"We took what the armorers gave us this morning. "They had some available equipped with 5.56 so it's practically an M4 with a fancier frame job," The male NCO replied to Blackburn when he approached. "Staff Sergeant Christopher Evans, United States Marines."

"Nice to meet you Sergeant."

"So, what you need?"

"I brought a car on lend from base. How do you want to handle it? Leave it here or take it with us?" Blackburn said, he gestured off to a black company car parked at the edge of the small parking lot in front of the airsoft field.

"Hmm. We'll have to leave it Commander. I'm sure we can send someone else to get it after this mess. We can't risk anyone being in danger and a car is worth a lot less than my men's lives. We leave it behind."

"That's fine Staff Sergeant, I can respect that care for your men. We'll leave the vehicle here. There isn't anything security sensitive in the vehicle besides being government property. We should be fine leaving it here."

"Okay, Lieutenant Commander."

"Likewise, Evans. Athena, put the stuff in the car. We're leaving it here. We don't have time to take it with us!"

"Got it Black!" The female naval officer yelled back from the trunk of the government car. Blackburn quickly joined her and tossed the rest of their airsoft equipment in the trunk, they would come back for it later.

"Lieutenant Commander! We got a few changes of the NWU Type Threes sitting up here. You and the Lieutenant can change on the go." Evans called as he showed off some spare Navy Work Uniforms, digital green-and-brown pattern that had long since replaced the Blueberry type camos used by the Navy before Iran. Blackburn still remembered the slow transition, he had still been in school when the blueberry digital camo was still the mainstay of the Navy's uniform palette. There had been an open joke among sailors that the uniform was only good for hiding people in the sea when they fell overboard. It was nice to have the Marine Corps style rather than the blue fashion uniforms serving as a constant operation hazard.

"Got it Staff Sergeant. Prepare for us to leave!"

Blackburn and Athena quickly ridded themselves of their personal gear and stripped themselves of their useless equipment. Instead of leaving everything they had, however, they collected their personal effects and grabbed their airsoft attire. Blackburn put his simulation sidearm but kept his leg holster, thigh rig, and plate carrier. Athena adopted her own plate carrier and thigh holster. Her sidearm was rigged to her chest as it was so she didn't have any drop leg holster.

The two were quick to remove the reinforced foam pads added into the plate carriers to simulate Kevlar plates.

"I need another four ceramic trauma plates for these plate carriers. I also want you to pass a pair of service M9s and whatever rifles you have left chambered in 5.56."

Evans nodded in response and ordered the requirements by radio to one of the MRAPs. The trio were quick to approach the MRAPs and prepare to leave. The government issue car was left on its own as the Navy convoy made a U-turn and disappeared down the country road from which it came.

The airsoft field owner whispered as they left, "Good luck."


End file.
